


Falling and Fighting for You

by Tahlruil



Series: We Can Save Each Other [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cullen Has Issues, Cullen-Centric, Date Night, Dorian Pavus Has Issues, M/M, Recovering Alcoholic Cullen Rutherford, possessive Cullen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-11-03 15:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10969974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tahlruil/pseuds/Tahlruil
Summary: Cullen and Dorian have been dating for a while now, thanks to a timely rescue. 'Fancy' date nights aren't Cullen's favorite - though he does like it when Dorian steals and wears his ties - but he always looks forward to 'casual' date nights. The two of them aren't perfect and are still feeling their way around each other's sharp edges, but everything is going well. Looming on the horizon, however, is the fanciest date of all. He just hopes he can get through it without beating the crap out of his guy's father.





	1. Hoodies and Happiness

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god, I promised this so long ago. XD Then I got lost in Stony-land. :'D But that Bingo is over at the end of July, not the end of June, so I decided a break was in order to write about my other favorite pair. Yay!
> 
> Comments? Please? Validate me? XD 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! <3

By their fifth casual date – the ones that didn’t require suits or the ties that never lasted the whole meal – Dorian had possession of four hoodies that belonged to Cullen. It was warmer where the man was from, but he refused to dress in a way that accounted for the difference. His shirts almost always bordered on indecent, with cut-outs or sheer areas or netting. Dorian’s pants, on the other hand, were always better. They clung in a way that made Cullen’s mouth water, but at least they were warm. It was enough to make a man think those ridiculous-for-anything-but-clubbing shirts were donned on purpose, with the aim of getting his hands on another article of clothing from Cullen’s closet.

So when he showed up at Cullen’s door for that fifth casual date with an armful of hoodies, Cullen was understandably concerned.

“Do you… not want them anymore?” Maker, he hated how vulnerable he sounded. He still ushered Dorian in, however, despite the sinking feeling in his chest and the way his stomach was twisting unpleasantly. “You aren’t… you’re not… whatever it is, Dorian, just tell me and give me a chance to fix it. Please.”

There was a lot he was willing to do to save this relationship, so he hoped Dorian would just tell him whatever it was that he was doing wrong. Things with Dorian were just… well. Great, really, or so he’d thought. It was the probably the healthiest romantic entanglement he’d ever had. They both had issues, sure, but their baggage seemed to match up quite well. So the thought of Dorian being unhappy enough to end things? It sent peals of panic ringing in his head.

 _Please, please let me fix this,_ he prayed silently even as the part of him that was always sure the worst would happen began to make plans. _Please don’t let me lose him_. He’d have to call Varric or Cassie right away, because as soon as Dorian was gone the urge to drink would be there. And meetings – he’d need to start attending meetings again for a while. He would need to grab hold of his sobriety with both hands and hold on for dear life. His addiction was always looking for a reason to reassert itself, after all, and this would be the best excuse he’d had in a while.

“… what?” Dorian asked, interrupting Cullen’s frantic planning and blinking like a deer in headlights.

“You… you’re not breaking up with me, are you?” Dorian immediately looked aghast, and he felt like an _utter_ idiot. Why did he always jump to the worst possible scenario?

Dorian dropped the hoodies on the floor, and before Cullen was even halfway through berating himself Dorian was right there. He was right there with one arm wrapped around Cullen and the other cradling the back of his neck. It was something of a relief to let himself fall forward and rest his forehead on Dorian’s shoulder. Both of his own arms went around the other man, and he took hold of the back of Dorian’s shirt. It was a blue button-up today, where the front panels were mostly sheer but for the pattern of thin vines snaking across them – Dorian really was flashy and ridiculous in the extreme. As he breathed the man in, he felt a soft kiss pressed to the crown of his head, and Dorian’s clever fingers were rubbing the back of his neck in a very soothing fashion.

“No, Cullen. Maker no. Why in the world would you think that?”

“You brought the hoodies back,” Cullen mumbled into his shoulder, feeling a blush crawl over his cheeks. “You wear these silly shirts just to get them, and you brought them back, and I’m a fool.”

A burst of laughter ruffled his hair, and Dorian drew him a little closer. “Not a fool, no. And I only brought them back because…” the man trailed off, sounding embarrassed. Curious, Cullen peeked up at him to see that rare and wonderful trace of red in his cheeks. “They don’t smell like you anymore.” Cullen couldn’t help but stare, because that was pretty much the opposite of what he’d thought was happening.

“They don’t… smell like me?”

“No. I thought I was very clear with my housekeeper that they weren’t to be washed, but she must have misunderstood. She did, and now they smell like my detergent instead of you, and I don’t like it.”

“So you brought them back-”

“For you to wash and wear until they smell right again.” That… was adorable and sweet, and it prompted Cullen to lift his head and catch Dorian’s mouth in a tender kiss. The man gave a soft hum of pleasure and relaxed into the gesture immediately. The hand at the back of his neck slid into Cullen’s hair and gripped the locks with just the right amount of force. That drew a moan from him, and just like that the kiss went from sweet to downright filthy.

Dorian surged forward, connecting them from chest to thigh; when Cullen gasped, his tongue immediately took advantage. While Dorian was busy owning his mouth, Cullen stumbled back a step, then kept going. His body knew this apartment even when he was blackout drunk, even when he was drying out and pacing like a caged lion, even when the cravings were so bad he couldn’t pay attention to anything else. So he didn’t worry about where his body was taking them – he wasn’t going to trip over anything, he was sure – because he had far more important things to focus on. Like the way Dorian kept tugging his hair, or how his other hand now had a tight hold of Cullen’s left hip. Or Dorian’s sinful tongue as it continued to plunder his mouth – that felt like an especially urgent thing to pay attention to.

He wasn’t that surprised when his back hit a wall, or by the way Dorian instantly caged him in. His hand left Cullen’s hair and hit the wall by his head, staying there and making Cullen feel pinned in the most wonderful way. One thigh found its way between his legs, and Cullen couldn’t help but give a soft whimper in response. Dorian growled, and the rumble of it sent shivers down his spine. He broke the kiss, but it was only to bite at Cullen’s lip in a move that sent a fission of pleasure/pain through him; the man soothed the hurt with his tongue as soon as Cullen’s hips bucked upward. Then he began a series of shorter, clinging kisses designed to turn Cullen’s knees to jelly – it was a strategy that always worked.

Cullen had been running his hands over Dorian’s back, occasionally grabbing hold of his shirt again. As Dorian teased his tongue lightly over the sensitive area _just_ inside his lower lip, he switched things up. With his left hand, he raked his nails down the length of Dorian’s back, making him hiss with pleasure, and slid his fingers into the man’s back pocket once that trek was over. It was a gesture Dorian adored, and he seemed to like it even more when Cullen used it to get a handful of his ass and squeeze. His right hand went to cup Dorian’s jaw, thumb stroking his skin in an encouraging manner.

Both of them were very noticeably at half-mast as they continued to make out, getting lost in each other. When Cullen began to rub himself against Dorian’s thigh, however, the man startedto ease back. Every kiss was a little softer, a little sweeter, until their lips were just barely touching. Dorian had his forehead pressed to his, and they were both gasping quietly for breath. Every puff of air from Dorian’s mouth tingled when it hit his (probably) kiss-bruised lips, turning the moment even more intimate.

When Cullen finally tipped his head back and opened his eyes, it was to find Dorian gazing at him, pupils blown. “Sorry,” the man murmured, voice husky. “Got a bit carried away. You’re just so absolutely delicious – I couldn’t help myself.”

“I’m not complaining,” Cullen teased back, a slight growl in his own voice. Just to demonstrate the fact, he palmed Dorian’s ass through his jeans again before bringing both hands to rest on the man’s sides. “Maker… that was good Dorian.”

“Mmmm.” Dorian leaned in and lightly nipped his lip before slowly – reluctantly, maybe – pulling away completely. “It was. But not yet Cullen.”

“I know.” And he did – Dorian had been very clear about wanting to get to know each other before being intimate. Cullen wouldn’t have minded regardless, but the man had looked so terribly vulnerable and resigned when he’d asked – _asked!_ – if he minded waiting. He was clearly expecting Cullen to say no; Cullen had the sneaking suspicion that if he had, Dorian would have given him the best sex of his life and then been horribly insecure about the nature of their relationship.

Tracking down and beating all of the man’s former lovers to a pulp was an unreasonable response – or so the legal system (and probably society as a whole) would say. _Maker_ but he wanted to though, because they were all of them asses. He’d settled for turning the reins over to Dorian completely as far as sex was concerned – the other man was making all those rules. They kissed – Andraste’s mercy, but they kissed – and there was, on occasion, a bit of petting involved, but they hadn’t gone any further. Dorian seemed like the cat who’d gotten into the cream every time he put a stop to things and Cullen didn’t complain.

Like now, when he shot a smile Cullen’s way that made him think the cat had gotten a canary too. “I got very lucky when I rescued you, I think. Not as lucky as you are, of course, because I am the perfect specimen, a paragon of virtue, so incredibly attractive one might think my visage crafted lovingly by the Maker himself… I’m sorry, what was I saying?”

“You’re absurd,” Cullen replied mock-sternly before he gave the man a quick kiss. “Wait just a minute and I’ll get you another hoodie. Though if you wanted to start wearing real shirts on our dates you could – you don’t need an excuse, Dorian. I _like_ you in my clothes. I’ll always be willing to let you borrow something.” Again came that look, the one that said he’d managed to surpass Dorian’s every expectation.

If he ever met anyone his guy had slept with before they met, he’d be very hard-pressed not to punch them in the throat.

“Wear one of the ones I brought back,” Dorian insisted as Cullen bent to gather the returned articles of clothing into his arms. “We can get a rotation going so I always have some that smell like you.”

“Yes dear. Feel free to get a drink or a snack while I’m gone. I’ll be just a couple minutes since I have to change now.” Being the mature and elegant man that he was, Dorian answered him by sticking out his tongue. Cullen laughed as he headed for the bedroom and left the door ajar once he was inside. The other man really was like a cat, so he’d probably come this way soon – it was better not to force him to open the door on his own.

It was a cool day, but not cold enough to warrant the long-sleeved henley he was wearing _and_ a sweatshirt. Pulling it over his head, he tossed it carelessly to one side before striding over to his dresser. He picked a t-shirt and random and didn’t give any more thought than that to the hoodie he grabbed from the pile. It ended up being one that zipped, so he tugged it on as he crossed to his closet, but left it open.

There he paused for just a second, wavering. Cullen hadn’t shared this particular hoodie yet for a reason. It was his favorite, and a gift from his family when he was in rehab for (hopefully) the last time. It _meant_ something, and he hadn’t wanted to just give it away and never see it again. But he really liked Dorian, and he was hoping this relationship would stick. And if they were going to swap hoodies back and forth on the regular… yeah. He wanted his guy in his favorite hoodie.

After he snagged it off the hanger and turned toward the door, he wasn’t startled in the slightest to find Dorian watching him with a Cheshire smile. “You certainly are fit, aren’t you?” the man asked breezily as he leaned against the doorjamb. “I didn’t know I’d taken up with a warrior-type.”

“Warrior-type?”

“Mmm. You could play a knight or a mercenary or some such thing in the movies. Ergo, warrior-type.”

“I see.” He didn’t, but that was part of Dorian’s charm. The man looked at the world in a way that was utterly foreign to Cullen, and it was fascinating. “What type are you?” He’d reached the door, but his guy refused to budge, staring down at Cullen with a soft smile on his lips.

“Me? They don’t have a type for me. I’m so glorious that I defy categorization.”

“Your humility is showing again.”

“Well I have to let it out to get some air every now and again. I can wear a different one, if you want.” He added, seemingly at random until he pointed to the hoodie Cullen was cradling in his arms. “I know I’m a bit high-maintenance, but I’d hate for you to feel like you _have_ to let me wear something important to you. A long-sleeved shirt would do just as well if that’s the last sweatshirt you have left.”

Once again, Cullen’s first response to such unprompted sweetness was a kiss. This one stayed light and chaste, because he was very mindful of where they were. He doubted Dorian had forgotten about the bed only a few feet away either. After pulling back, he gave a small shrug, feeling a wry half-smile tug at his lips. “You, high-maintenance? I’d never have known.” Before Dorian could answer – though not before he donned a thoroughly affronted expression – Cullen pressed on. “And it is important to me… but so are you. I wouldn’t let just anyone borrow it, but I know you’ll take care of it. I trust you with it, Dorian.”

Dorian took the hoodie with a stunned expression when Cullen passed it over, and it took him several moments before he unfolded the thing to look it over. Cullen wasn’t sure he’d actually know what the designs meant – he wasn’t from the area, after all. On the front, situated over the heart was the name of Cullen’s favorite football team, the Fereldan Wardens, in a deep blue. Their mascot, a griffon, was emblazoned over most of the back in the same color, looking majestic and proud against the silvery-gray background of the hoodie. ‘Cousland’ was the name above the griffon, and below was the legendary player’s title of ‘Hero’.

The hoodie was one of only three hundred produced through official team channels – he didn’t want to know what his parents had paid to secure the limited-edition item. Cullen had practically lived in it until he was finally let out of rehab – it had been a lifeline, proof to set against the voice that whispered no one could ever _really_ care about him because he was worthless, nothing more than a fuck-up. It had been a reminder that he wasn’t alone, and he would have all the support he could ask for once he returned to the world.

Watching Dorian tug it over his head, Cullen felt strong emotion stirring to life in his chest. He hadn’t been lying earlier – he liked seeing Dorian in clothes that belonged to him. But Dorian in _this_ hoodie? It magnified that enjoyment a hundredfold, and all Cullen could think for a little while was ‘ _ **mine**_ ’.

“Are you… are you sure you don’t mind?” Dorian’s audible uncertainty broke through his possessive haze; he hated the fragile look he found in those pretty gray eyes once it had. “If it means so much to you-”

“Dorian?” He kept his interruption soft and gentle, reaching up to cup the man’s cheek. “You mean a lot to me too. I care about you – you’re my guy. I want you to wear it. So unless you don’t want to-”

“Oh, I absolutely want to.” Though his tone was one of affected arrogance, Dorian’s expression was full of wonder. “If you’re… if you’re really sure you want someone like me wearing it.”

“I am.” Leaning up, he brushed his lips over the mole that was a delightful accent to Dorian’s right cheek. The gesture seemed to settle the man a little, but Cullen still felt a kernel of anger in his heart. “Never introduce me to anyone you’ve slept with,” he added, not at all surprised at the growl in his voice. “I think I’d end up killing them for making you feel like you don’t deserve to wear it.”

“I’ll introduce you to all of them if you promise to let me watch.” The playful rejoinder didn’t fool Cullen, especially because of the way Dorian’s voice broke a little – he was clearly touched and just as clearly uncomfortable with being emotional.

“We should wait until after you propose to me for punching your father. That way they know I’m a warrior-type and can try to prepare accordingly.” Dorian’s laughter was _so_ much better than him looking so wounded and vulnerable.

“Do you want to come with me to pick out the ring?”

“No, I trust your taste.”

“Well it is impeccable. Once we’re engaged will you let me redecorate your apartment?” They were moving now, arm in arm as they walked to Cullen’s front door.

“No.”

“What happened to trusting my taste?”

“Your taste is both impeccable and _expensive_. I couldn’t afford you as an interior decorator.” 

“And if I financed the endeavor?”

“My neighbors would rob me blind when you were done, so still no. Sorry.” Dorian ‘tsk’ed at the thought, letting go of Cullen’s arm so he could lock his front door behind them. When he turned back to the other man, he caught Dorian stroking the name of the team almost reverently, like he still couldn’t believe he was actually wearing it. As soon as he knew Cullen was looking, he stopped and dropped his hand, blushing lightly.

“Now. Where are you taking me this fine afternoon?” Grinning, Cullen found Dorian’s hand with his own and held on – they were almost always touching in some way whenever they were out in public. Dorian thrived when he could see and hear Cullen acknowledging their relationship around other people, and Cullen liked having that level of connection just as much.

“You’re going to love it. Maybe. Or you might hate it. I’m glad you wore sneakers.”

“Well you did tell me to. I listen, you know.” At Cullen’s skeptical look, he gave a sly smile. “Well, sometimes. Usually only when it’s something I’d have done anyway. But I do listen to you. I… you’re… I care about you too, Cullen.” Dorian squeezed his fingers as he spoke, reaffirming the message before he cleared his throat. “I must insist you tell me where we’re going.”

“It’s a bit outside the city.”

“Lots of things are outside the city, Cullen. Narrow it down, if you please.”

“We’ll be outside most of the day.”

“Thank the Maker you provided a hoodie then.”

“Especially since there will probably be children there. Will you please stop dressing like we’re going to a club? You know I think you’re sexy, and I’ll let you borrow my clothes regardless.”

“Children? Why will there be children? And I suppose I could think about making a slight adjustment in the way I dress.”

“If we go to a club, feel free to wear the sheerest shirt you own. Or If we’re staying in I wouldn’t mind either. You could wear those criminal leather pants of yours too.”

“Now you’re just trying to distract me. Where am I driving us, Cullen?”

“Have you ever played miniature golf?”

~.~.~

“This is fucking ridiculous.”

“Dorian! There are little ears-”

“I don’t care. If they knew how to curse they would do it too. I am providing them the vocabulary with which they can vent their frustrations.”

“If you hate it so much, we _can_ leave.”

“You’re just upset that I’m beating the pants off you, that’s why you want to go. No no – this is a delightful game. Except for this _fucking hole_.”

“There are so many jokes to make. I don’t know where to start.”

“Do shut up Cullen. I am trying to focus.”

“Yes dear.”

When Dorian finally managed to get his ball both up the ramp and through the chomping jaws of a mechanical Darkspawn, the small crowd they’d gathered went wild. It was, Cullen thought with both disbelief and affection for the man in question, as if the Warden’s had just won a close game. The three children (whose presence had finally curbed Dorian’s tongue) were cheering and jumping up and down. The adults were laughing and congratulating him, offering him claps on the shoulder and back.

And after the man had thoroughly gloried in all the attention, he turned back to Cullen. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Dorian smiling so hard. The man didn’t seem to care that it was starting to get colder, or that the wind had hopelessly mussed his usually perfect hair, or that his once pristine white sneakers were covered in mud and grass stains. He looked _happy_ , in a totally care-free, innocent way. When he threw himself at Cullen, he skillfully evaded getting brained by the man’s club, dropped his own and caught Dorian around the waist. Lifting the taller man with ease, Cullen spun him around in a circle which made Dorian laugh, loud and unrestrained. When he put the man down, he couldn’t help but frame his face with both hands and lean up to kiss him soundly.

Dorian made a sound of surprise and pleasure before covering Cullen’s hands with his own. They parted and he met sparkling gray eyes, and Cullen had a moment of breathless realization – he was going to fall in love with this man. He wasn’t there, not quite yet, but he didn’t have much further to fall either.

He was definitely going to fall in love with Dorian Pavus. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it even if he wanted to, which he didn’t. The man was beautiful and fascinating, and so perfectly imperfect that it made him ache.

“Still beating you,” Dorian teased, squeezing his hands before pulling away. “Twelve stroke penalty on this hole and you will still owe me your pants after this, Rutherford.”

With that, he was off to fetch his golf ball, leaving Cullen to stare after him. Yeah… he was going to fall _hard_. He hoped Dorian wouldn’t mind when it happened.

~.~.~

Miniature golf was a resounding success. Dorian beat him by an embarrassing amount and was adorably smug about it. The cheap ice cream they grabbed on a whim at the course wasn’t received quite as well, however. Thankfully Cullen was able to make up for that with the diner they went to after for dinner. It was a little hole in the wall, with food that far outstripped its appearance.

The car ride home was full of laughter, singing, and terrible seat-dancing. On the whole, it was such an amazing date that he didn’t even mind when Dorian said it would be a little while before they’d be able to see each other again. This and phone calls would be enough to sustain him until Dorian’s schedule cleared a bit. When they reached Cullen’s apartment building, they kissed goodbye and he watched until the car faded from view. The guy he was falling for had driven away wearing the hoodie that meant the world to him, and it had felt _right_.

For the first time in a long time, the urge to drink was so distant that Cullen could forget it for a small window of time. The whisper that constantly pointed out his flaws and how alcohol could solve all his problems was so quiet he almost couldn’t hear it. It had been such a good day, the best even, and for once Cullen could hardly wait to see what the future would bring.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Bit of a trigger warning? This chapter focuses pretty heavily on Cullen's alcoholism, a triggering event for him and how he deals with it - if that's something that might trigger _you_ , please be aware of that and maybe skip it.**
> 
> It took soooo long, but here's the second chapter? XD It's sort of really unedited, but I don't know that that's anything new coming from me.
> 
> Comments maybe? If anyone's still reading it? :'D

Cullen had a splitting headache, and he could feel that and his fraying temper pounding behind his eyes. It had been a bad day right out of the gate. He'd slept poorly, waking up multiple times and having odd, disturbing dreams during the stretches when he hadn't. When his alarm had finally gone off and he'd lurched out of bed, he stumbled and fumbled more than he'd used to when he was drunk. It had been bad enough that he slammed into the wall next to his bathroom door and had to stay there for a few seconds to regain his balance and bearings. When his shower went well, he had gotten cocky - that attitude earned him three sluggishly bleeding nicks on his face. He proceeded to burn two attempts at toast, and by that point he'd honestly been ready to give up on the day and crawl back into bed.

That wasn't an option though, because he had a... well, it wasn't a date, but he _was_ going to see Dorian. apparently the event they were going to in order to piss off his father was fancier even than the snootiest of the snooty restaurants he'd taken Cullen to. So he needed a tuxedo - an actual tuxedo, not just dress pants and a nice suit jacket - and Dorian wouldn't even let him get his own, oh no. No, they had to go to some hoity-toity stuffed shirt shop where Cullen would feel dreadfully out of place in, and he'd have to get _fitted_ , which meant people he didn't know getting too close and touching him. Dorian had even talked about making sure they matched in order to piss his father off even further, which... fine. Cullen wasn't all that interested in fashion and would have been content to just let Dorian handle all of it, but his boyfriend wanted him to be involved. So even though all he wanted to do was call it quits, throw on some sweats and watch TV under the covers all day, he would go tuxedo shopping instead because Dorian had asked it of him... and Dorian asked for so little.

It would have been nice if he didn't have go through such bullshit on such a bloody awful day, but he would grit his teeth and bear it with what grace he could.

He would have been fine - a little cranky but fine - if he'd left his apartment just a little earlier or a little later. Unfortunately, his already shitty day extended into him having shitty timing. As he'd stepped out of the door, Cullen had run (quite literally) into Oghren, his apartment building's resident drunk. The short, foul man not only _reeked_ of alcohol (which instantly cranked his current craving level to 11) but also had an open can of beer in hand. That had ended up splattered all down the front of his shirt, seductive and sinister as it soaked through to his skin. He'd immediately frozen, only half-hearing (thank the Maker) Oghren's invitation to join him for a cold one.

The scent of beer coated the inside of his nostrils and poured - Maker, so smoothly, like ale would from a frosty-cold foaming pitcher - down his throat until he could taste it, crisp and cold and everything he'd never wanted to _want_ again. Maker and his Holy Bride preserve him, but all he wanted to do was grab that can of beer and drain the remains. If he couldn't wrestle it away from Oghren, he'd settle for sucking at the liquid staining his shirt. _Years_ of hard work and learning coping strategies suddenly meant nothing, because alcohol could make everything bad go away. He'd been made to forget that, been lectured on the evils of that pure, magical substance for so long that he'd forgotten the _truth_.

If he had a beer or an ale (or two), Cullen would forget all about his so-far-shitty morning. One or two more (or maybe a few shots of whiskey) and tuxedo shopping with Dorian would seem palatable. Couple more than that and the outing would be _fun_. Or he could say forget it to the tuxedo shopping and just go down to the local pub and get roaring drunk, and nothing else would matter, and he cou-

Some small part of Cullen that was stronger than the whole of him would ever be whispered ' _no_ '. He seized on that quiet voice, that tiny escape hatch, and hoped like hell it'd be enough to save him. In the moment it was - in the moment it let him turn away from Oghren and flee back into his apartment, slamming the door in Oghren's face. He ran to the bathroom as fast as he could, the scent of alcohol still in his nose and every sweet, sweet promise it made ringing in his ears. It was only habit that had him throwing his keys and phone onto the table as he hurried by, because he didn't stop to think or breathe or anything.

Cullen ran until he was in his shower, where he turned the water on, not even flinching when the first spitting stream of water slapped him right in the face. He turned the temperature as hot as it would go then braced both hands on the wall, head hanging down as he fought against his own mind. He forced himself to relive every screaming match he'd had with his family over his addiction, able to see their tear-streaked desperation clearly in his mind. Cullen thought about every time he'd hurt someone or himself as he searched out his next drink. He went over every painful, soul-shattering moment from his relationship with Meredith, then thought of all the nights he'd woken up in a strangers bed and couldn't even remember what else he might have done there.

Once he'd gotten through it all, once he'd remembered the consequences of his choices, of his addiction, Cullen reached for the knob again. He didn't let him think about what was going to happen, just cranked the handle all the way to the other extreme in temperature. The change drove all the breath from his lungs, and his heart seemed to stop in his chest for just a moment. There were shards of ice ripping into his skin, but it was what he needed just then - he pictured those shards sloughing off his excuses and justifications, cutting away all the glamour of drinking to leave the raw, painful truth.

It took only a few stuttering heartbeats, and Cullen was able to change the temperature again, this time to the setting that he usually preferred. Skin stinging, breath and heart still struggling to return to their normal rhythm, Cullen started to strip. First to go was his shirt - he'd have to get rid of it completely, because now it would always remind him of Oghren and the smell of beer, and the day he'd almost thrown his sobriety away for both. That article of clothing he threw right out of the shower, but his sneakers, jeans and boxer briefs he left on the floor of his shower. Then he joined them there, knees drawn to his chest and face buried in his hands as he tried to think of all the things he'd gotten to keep by throwing off (if only for the moment) the hold alcohol had over him.

His family would always be first on that list - they had gone through so much with him, had done so much for him, had been hurt so much because of him. On the flip side, they would be so proud to know that he'd managed to get a handle on this most recent craving. It was the strongest he'd had in a long time, and it had come on so suddenly. Maybe Cullen hadn't done it perfectly, but he'd gotten through the first moment, and then the moments after that. He'd gotten through as many as five minutes already, and they would be so proud of that. The warm feel of their love and approval would get him through the next minute, until he could do it for himself again.

And his friends - he wouldn't have lost Varric or Cassie if he'd relapsed, but he was still glad not to put them through that. He wasn't responsible for Varric's sobriety or Varric for his, but it still would have been hard on the other man, to have his sponsee start drinking again. Not giving in meant he spared them both that circle of disappointment, remorse and shame. Not giving in meant seeing Cassie in two days for lunch, where she would pretend to tease him about his relationship with Dorian while (not-so) secretly reveling in every romantic or sappy gesture. They were all going to get together that weekend along with a few other friends, some of them newer than others - including a woman named Aveline who he thought would love to join his and Cassie's boxing sessions and her husband Donnic, who was wonderfully laid back and fun to play cards with. He got to keep all that, got to keep having their laughter and their teasing and their solid support.

Dorian was so new in his life, but Cullen still wanted to keep him. The man was dramatic and high maintenance, but also aware enough of himself to poke holes in his own vanity. He could be strangely sweet at the oddest moments, and had so clearly been mistreated in the past by his romantic partners that Cullen thanked the Maker every day that he was even willing to give it another shot. Dorian was a wonderful reason to be happy he had managed to fight off the awful yoke of his craving. Dorian, who loved to hold his hand and tell him what a barbarian he was; Dorian who dragged him to snooty restaurants and wore even his rattiest sweatshirts and hoodies with pride.

Dorian, who was waiting for him halfway across the city so they could get fitted for matching tuxes.

Cullen couldn't help but laugh hopelessly into his hands. Andraste's ass, he couldn't do this today. He couldn't, and he shouldn't... but he would. It would just be a few hours, and Dorian was so invested in this whole thing. Cullen had promised, and he didn't want to disappoint his guy. He just needed to get out of the shower and get dressed, then head out. Oghren would be long gone by now, and if he moved quickly Cullen would only be ten or fifteen minutes late.

He ignored the whispering voice from earlier, the one that had saved him. It was telling him to call Dorian to cancel, then get in touch with Varric ASAP. He should go to a meeting and maybe even two, it insisted, because in an hour or two he would be frustrated with his weakness and angry that he couldn't drink. He needed to at least warn Dorian, so that if he started taking it all out on his boyfriend, he would understand why and be able to handle it.

But he hadn't had a drink, and he barely even wanted one anymore, so he was fine. Cullen could just get dressed and carry on, because he'd beaten the urge.

Cullen could just get on with it, because he was _fine_

~.~.~

"That is the ugliest fucking color I've ever seen in my life." The displeased moue on Dorian's face didn't even slow Cullen down, not when he was _right_. The offended look on the face of the asshole 'helping' them was an added bonus - he'd been looking down his nose at Cullen since he'd walked in. "I'm not wearing that, Dorian. It looks like Mabari shit."

"It's one of the only colors you hadn't already vetoed, _darling_ ," Dorian answered, voice mostly pleasant - only the slight edge to his words and the way his jaw worked displayed his irritation. He'd been pissy ever since Cullen had walked in and sat in one of the chairs instead of the small couch Dorian had already been sitting on. When he'd also kept his hands stubbornly stuffed into his jeans pockets and hadn't reacted at all to the hand his boyfriend had laid on his thigh, Dorian had pulled back completely and gone into what Cullen was now privately referring to in his mind as 'bitch mode'. Gone was the witty, funny, playful man he enjoyed spending time with - now almost every remark towards Cullen was a double-edged sword, cutting the both of them to the quick. He'd been snide to the point of insult while discussing Cullen's 'usual dress' with their attendant - the one Cullen noticed was _fawning_ over Dorian and was touching him way too fucking much. The pointed looks Dorian sent him with every touch were almost as irritating as having to watch the ass touch his guy - what the fuck did Dorian want from him?

Just because he did't want to touch or be touched just then didn't give Dorian the right to be bitchy or purposefully try to make him jealous.

Didn't give him the right to drag this out so long either. Cullen had been informed that he was expected to try on every suit cut that he liked - sometimes with a few different color, shirt, tie, or pocket square options. He'd pretty quickly decided he hated almost every single cut, until the flustered asshole attendant went scurrying for more and Dorian had leaned over and hissed in his ear to stop acting like a petulant child. Now they were trying to decide on shirt and tie colors, and it wasn't his fucking fault that every item in this fucking store came in color he hated.

"You know, I don't really care. About any of this," he made a gesture that took in the whole of the store and especially the asshole attendant. It didn't register that Dorian had been included too until about halfway through his next sentence, and by that point he was just irritated that Dorian wouldn't understand that he was the exception to the vacuum of awful they'd found themselves in. "So why don't you just choose what we're wearing, Dorian? We're only going to piss off _your_ father, and you know how to do that better than I do. Just fucking pick something so we can get the fuck out of here, okay?" Dorian had looked a bit stricken at first, but by the end of his plea - his very reasonable plea, in Cullen's own opinion - anger was clearly winning out.

"Fine." The word was short, concise, and full of such disdain that Cullen scarcely recognized it as belonging to his boyfriend. "Just - just go Cullen. I'll handle this myself. In fact," he stopped and took a breath, very obviously trying to keep himself under control. "If you care so little, don't bother attending with me at all. I will be perfectly fine on my own. I don't need you, Cullen Rutherford, so just... just leave. You can take the sweatshirt I wore here with you." Now _that_...

That cut through the sullen air of bullshit Cullen had wrapped around him before he'd gotten out of his second shower. Maker's breath, _he_ was the one being an asshole. He had rebuffed every attempt Dorian had made to connect with him, to involve him. He'd belittled every choice Dorian offered, long past the time when the light of excitement had been extinguished from those beautiful grey eyes. He'd been argumentative, territorial even while refusing to offer Dorian the comfort of touch, and had just taken a shit on top of their relationship. 

Void take him, he was an asshole. If he wasn't careful, he was going to turn into Meredith, and Dorian would never, ever want to be with him if he became like that. Cullen wouldn't _want_ Dorian to stay if he turned into someone that would hurt Dorian that much.

He should have called Varric earlier, and he should have let Dorian know what had happened. Maker's mercy but he was a fool, and he... he had to find a way to try and salvage this. He let Dorian finish his quiet conversation with the attendant; when that man walked away, he slid over onto the couch. He did _not_ miss the way Dorian's spine stiffened, and there was a cold fire in his eyes when he looked over his shoulder. "Can I help you?" Every word was formed precisely, without an ounce of the warmth or affection Cullen was used to hearing. Even when they'd first met, when Dorian had saved him, he had spoken as though to someone he cared for. Now Cullen had been reduced to a stranger, and an irritating one at that.

"I... Dorian, I'm sorry." With bated breath, afraid Dorian would turn away just like he had an hour ago when Dorian reached for him, he carefully slid one hand up Dorian's back until his was gently squeezing his shoulder. "It's been..." Maker, he didn't want to make excuses, or avoid taking responsibility for what an ass he'd been, but he wanted Dorian to _understand_... "I'm sorry. Can I... I just need to..." He needed to call Varric and figure out where the nearest and soonest meeting was, and he needed to tell Dorian what was going on... and each of those things seemed impossible alone. When taken all together.. he didn't know if he was going to be able to manage. Dorian at least hadn't recoiled or brushed his hand off, which was... something. He guessed.

"What in Andraste's name is wrong with you?" Dorian demanded in a hushed voice, turning to face him - probably to keep their conversation private, not out of any desire to be closer, Cullen acknowledged glumly. "I have never seen you behave this way, and if this is a preview of what's to come, then you can-"

"I have to go to a meeting," he interrupted suddenly, squeezing down lightly on Dorian's shoulder. "Not for... not for work. For... I have to call Varric and I need to go to a meeting." Understanding dawned on his partner's face, but Cullen was pleased when he didn't read immediate forgiveness in Dorian's expression or body language. "Dorian, I... I should have told you..."

With a soft sigh, Dorian scooted a little closer to him, turning their conversation a bit more intimate. He even took hold of both of Cullen's hands, which gave him hope that he hadn't ruined this beyond redeeming. "Did you have anything to drink?"

"No." His answer was quick, maybe too quick, because Dorian just arched an unimpressed brow. "I promise. I... I wanted to. I haven't wanted a drink that bad in..." Cullen swallowed hard, able to taste the ghost of a million sweet sips of beer and ale and whiskey. "But no. I didn't."

"Alright." Dorian took a deep breath then let it out slowly, eyes fixed on the air above Cullen's shoulder. "Alright. We never really talked about this, did we?" He opened his mouth to deny it, then stopped and actually thought it over. Dorian had known Cullen was an alcoholic since that first night, and when they were together he never drank. Most of the time he wouldn't even accept the wine list at the fancy restaurants he preferred, and he had maneuvered around Cullen's addiction so effortlessly that they never _had_ actually talked about any of it. Cullen had taken it for granted that Dorian would just _know_ certain things.

It was a mistake he wasn't going to repeat again, if Dorian gave him another chance. "No," Cullen finally murmured softly, trying to catch Dorian's eye. "We didn't."

"Alright. Then we'll take this as a learning experience for the both of us, shall we? But Cullen," Dorian finally looked back at him, a resolute sort of sorrow writ deep in his features. "You can't treat me like dog shit every time something like this happens. I would have put up with it, you know. A year ago, even a few months ago, I would have. I would have told myself that I was lucky just to have you, that your good moods outweighed the bad, and that you couldn't help it so I should just deal. But since I've been seeing you..." The small twist of a smile under Dorian's ridiculously well-groomed mustache had Cullen's heart and stomach fluttering. "I have a much better idea of how a relationship - a healthy relationship - ought to work. I know more about what I deserve. So we need to agree right now that we are going to talk about this and develop strategies for handling it in the future, or... or I don't know, Cullen. I don't think I could handle..."

When the man faltered, Cullen lifted his hands, keeping his eyes fixed on Dorian's as he dropped a kiss to all ten knuckles before squeezing his fingers. "If we can't figure out a way to keep me from hurting you," he whispered, voice hoarse as he remembered the look on Dorian's face when he'd refused to touch him. "Then you should leave me. You deserve... you deserve the world, Dorian. I won't be perfect - Andraste save me, I won't be anywhere near it. But I can promise to try, and I can... we can figure some things out, coping strategies and other things that'll... well. But don't you ever feel like you have to stay with me, Dorian. Even if we get strategies set, and we have plans, I'm going to fuck up - sometimes I won't do what I'm supposed to do. I can promise I won't ever raise a hand to you, but... well. You've gotten a taste of what I can be like. I will do my best to follow the plans we make, but sometimes I won't and I might hurt you. If those times are too much for you, you are never obligated to stay with me. My mental health and well-being does _not_ come before yours. I'm not saying you should head for the hills the next time I stumble, but-" Dorian gently untangled one of his hands to press a finger against his lips.

"I believe I understand perfectly what you're trying to say, Cullen." Dorian's solemn expression turned to a smile when Cullen pressed a kiss to the pad of his finger. "Let me take care of things in here - why don't you step outside and call Varric? Then I can drive you to your meeting, if you'd like."

"That'd... that'd be really great." Cullen murmured, then cleared his throat. "You could even... you could come with me?" He turned it into a question, not wanting Dorian to feel like he had to. "There's usually at least one open meeting a day. Varric would know if there was one available. You don't have to, but if... if you wanted..."

"Perhaps another time," Dorian answered softly. "Because while your mental health and well-being shouldn't come first all the time, I believe that for the present yours does take priority. Go get what you need out of a meeting, Cullen, and I'll come with you when you aren't in crisis. Now go call Varric." Dorian gave him a brief kiss, then scooped up the hoodie he'd told Cullen to take with him earlier, holding it to his chest like he was afraid Cullen would do just that.

Cullen hadn't ruined this forever. He hadn't fucked up the best romantic relationship he'd ever been in. They were going to be okay, and - even more reassuring, in a strange way some people might not understand - was seeing that Dorian wouldn't let Cullen mistreat him. He wouldn't let Cullen use his addiction as an excuse. He wouldn't let Cullen hurt him.

Dorian wouldn't let Cullen be his Meredith.

He watched Dorian head to the... register? It looked more like a front desk, but this was the fanciest store he had ever been in, and Maker help him it was like a foreign country. Once his partner was speaking with their attendant - because 'sales associate' was too low class, apparently - Cullen stood himself and headed for the exit.

His first breath of fresh air was Maker-sent. It helped clear his mind and steady his nerves before he gabbed his cell and tossed it from hand to hand. Varric would be understandably concerned that Cullen hadn't called him right away, but he wouldn't be angry or even disappointed, not really. Varric understood - Varric had been there. And while it felt like it was something he just couldn't do... well. Hadn't he thought the same thing about talking to Dorian about what happened? Cullen had already done one impossible thing today, so doing it a second time should be a piece of cake.

Cullen would call Varric, who would help him find a meeting, and once he did it would be a weight off his shoulders. Guilt and secrets were both incredibly threatening to his sobriety, and a call to his sponsor would nip both problems in the bud. So he could definitely do this for his sobriety, and he could do it for Dorian. And maybe... maybe he could ask Varric what resources were available for his partner. Cullen had never paid much attention to the Al-Anon family group meetings in the area, not with his family living in another city, but he knew there were some that happened locally. Varric would be able to tell him how to get that information, and he could offer it to Dorian to use or not use as he needed.

He could do this. Varric wouldn't be angry at him. It had been a craving, not a relapse. Even if it _had_ been a relapse, Varric wouldn't have been angry. So he could do this. After a few deep breaths, Cullen finally dialed Varric, waiting for his sponsor to pick up.

"Heya Curly! Haven't heard from you since Monday morning - how you doing?" Something about the other man's voice was soothing, easing the sharp sting of shame he'd been nursing without even realizing it.

"Hey Varric," he returned, voice breaking a little under the weight of his day. "I fucked up. I didn't... I didn't take a drink, but I... I fucked up."

"Ah. Well tell me all about it Curly, and we'll see if we can't work out a way to fix it together."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note - I am not an alcoholic, but my father was. In the course of my own mental health treatment, I made many friends who were dealing with an addiction and went to a few AA meetings as a form of support when they needed it. So while I cannot speak from personal experience, I'm trying to be as real and genuine with the issue as I can. A lot of Cullen's experiences are based on things I noticed or were described to me, but some of it may not ring true to everyone else's experience.
> 
> If you think I got something super wrong, please let me know! <3


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